the boxcar kids
by nikki-jade090
Summary: In the turbulent childhood of the Dixon brothers, they discover an abandoned boxcar in the woods. It becomes their sanctuary and an important part of Daryl's teenage development.
1. the boxcar

1

The afternoon sunlight shone through the boxcar's plastic-covered windows and everything was almost perfectly serene. The dust from the old aged wood swirled in the lazy light and Daryl lay back on the uncovered mattress, closed his eyes. The silence was haunting. It reminded him of the calm before a storm. Or being in the eye of one. He opened his eyes and brushed the hair from his face. This place was nice. It was theirs and only theirs. They found the old boxcar when they were little, he must have been about eleven and his brother about sixteen. It was off the tracks, the wheels were busted off. It looked like it had rolled, as it was on its side. Following his bothers lead, he and Daryl slid open the door and peered into a cavernous darkness. Merle laid flat on his stomach, dangled over the door, and flicked his lighter a few times.

"It's empty!" Merle had declared with a triumphant yell. "Empty as shit!"

Daryl saw a perfect opportunity to act tough as his brother, and nonchalantly shrugged his skinny shoulders. "So fucking what?"

Merle stood himself up on the overturned boxcar and looked down at his little brother. "'So fucking what', little brother? We got a _hideout_ now, that's fucking what," he sneered.

Despite his skepticism, Daryl followed his brothers directions and dropped into the boxcar. At this point Merle was already inside, holding his lighter like Indiana Jones. Daryl had dropped in, and pointed out that there were actually small windows on the boxcars side, letting light in. So holding the lighter for two minutes was, in fact, pointless. Merle ignored Daryl, but did pocket the lighter.

"We could make this something, Daryl," Merle had whispered quietly.

And they did. They used spray paint from their dad's garage to camouflage the car more, just in case. They fixed the windows, and covered the missing ones with clear plastic. And it did become a hideout. It was just young boys in a fort, heading there just because they could. Daryl had seen it as an adventure. He was like an outlaw, he was Robin Hood, he was a hero. Then the time came that he really did need a hideout, and it changed everything in his mind. It wasn't fun, all of a sudden. He was huddled in a freezing cold boxcar in the dead of the night; he wasn't Robin Hood or a hero, he was just Daryl Dixon. Their parents had been arguing but it escalated to fighting, and the way that they fought was dirty.

At sixteen, Merle couldn't care less anymore. In fact, he hadn't even been there. But Daryl was wiser beyond his years about a few things, and knew when to make himself scarce. It was usually around the time that his mom threatened that she was leaving, because then dad would make a big scene _well why don__'__t you go tell your fucking sons you__'__re going, _and he would be dragged into the fight with absolutely no choice. And that night, he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to do it by himself. So he climbed out the bedroom window, and headed into the woods. Merle had found him there the next morning The next time that he was back in the car, he saw that Merle had somehow gotten a hold of two twin mattresses, and they were laid on the opposite ends of the car.

Two years had passed since they had discovered the boxcar. Not much in either of their lives had changed, except that Merle had been to reform school and jail a few times. Every other night one of his parens threatened to leave. Every other night, it felt like, Daryl found himself feeling trapped in the boxcar, staring at the Georgia stars. When Merle wasn't around, he found himself not going to school, and not doing much of anything. He was sure some people would call what he was doing 'pining'.

He was somewhat proud of himself in that he, unlike Merle at sixteen, hadn't gotten into trouble with the law. Yet, at least. The kids in school all knew Merle, and they were afraid of him. But they had quickly learned that Daryl was not his brother. They learned that Daryl could lose in fights, and that he wouldn't start them. He was shorter than his brother, and his usual attire consisted of dark jeans and a plain white (or what used to be white) t-shirt. Sometimes he wore his dads old biker vest, because it gave him an edge.

He remembered the time that he almost slid the door of the boxcar closed on Merle's hand. They had laughed. It was real laughter too. Before Daryl knew it, he fell asleep to his happier memories.

—-

Daryl woke up abruptly because he was cold. So cold. He almost panicked, he didn't realize where he was. As soon as his eyes adjusted he saw he was in the boxcar. _In the boxcar_. _Shit, shit, shit._ It had to have been late. He had fallen asleep. His sense of panic returned when he realized that his mom would be worried. He didn't blame her, he was her last chance at producing a somewhat decent member of society. He used their small ladder to climb out of the car, slid the heavy door shut with a grunt, and stashed the ladder behind a nearby tree. He tried to fight his drowsiness as he ran home.

He heard them before he saw them. The lights were all on in the small house, and it was lit up like the fourth of July. He heard his dad's deep and strained voice yelling over Merle's. He hesitated walking into it, but saw no other option. His brother saw his brother first, as father and son had begun to spill the fighting out onto the front porch. He noted that his dad was swaying and unsteady on his feet. He knew this was always an advantage. As his brain processed the situation, he saw their dad shove Merle, and Merle punched him back in the face a half second later. Their dad swayed.

"Merle!" Daryl screamed. Their dad's head picked up and he spun to face Daryl.

"This is your fucking fault!" He declared, pointing a drunken finger into Daryl's face. "She left because of your ass!"

As Daryl let his words register, he didn't notice the hit till he was on the ground. Before he could blink his dad was on top of him sending blind punches and hitting wherever he could. He felt Merle pull their dad off him, and as soon as he was off his back he ran like a bat out a hell into the house. He tore into the bedroom that he and his brother shared, Merle not far behind. They locked the door and waited. The silence in the eye of the storm.


	2. dallas dixon and sexy sadie

2

The phone saved them. It rang through the silence, echoing through the small house. Merle was leaning against their bedroom door, his ear pressed against it.

"Lose track of time, Darylina?" he whispered in a sarcastic drawl.

"I don't have a fucking curfew!" Daryl hissed back.

"Ma went ballistic. I think she lost it. Screamin' about how all of us are messed up. Said it was our fault-"

"Probably is..!" Daryl growled under his breath.

"Don't make me pound you too, son," Merle retorted.

They both went quiet when they heard their dad pick up the phone.

"Where the fuck are you, you bitch!" They heard Dallas Dixon scream into the phone, and shockingly wait for an answer. There was a long pause, and then he erupted like a shotgun. "You think you're better than this?! They ain't, for sure! Stay away, for fucking good!" The boys heard the phone being thrown across the room. Daryl imagined that could hear the dial tone.

Dallas Dixon was one mean motherfucker when he wanted to be, and his sons knew this better than anyone. There was speculation and reasonable doubt that Dallas might not be Merle's father, but he was undeniably Daryl's. Dallas was a tall and lean man with wild long hair who probably should never have been a father. He married their mother, Jolene, because she had become pregnant with Merle. Daryl's conception was viewed an unforeseen incident, a regrettable accident. Dallas worked at a garage in town as a minimum-wage mechanic, and had done so all their lives. Daryl was the spitting image of Dallas at sixteen.

There was an eerily gentle knock on the door.

"Boys," Dallas called softly from the other side. "That was your mama."

"And?" Merle called back through the hollow door.

"She ain't comin' back," Dallas slurred against the door.

Daryl felt his chest tighten.

"Ain't comin' back til you to shape up," Dallas continued. "And you're gonna shape up."

The boys heard the man on the other side shuffling around, and they soon realized he was standing directly in front of the door.

"Open up, you two," Dallas demanded, his voice picking up power from somewhere. "Open the fuck up! I just need one of you!" At this, he swung a fist into the door, and Merle found himself face to face with Dallas.

Time froze for Daryl. It felt like an hour. Flashbacks burst in his head like cannon fire. Being dragged out of his room by his own father, being told to say goodbye to his mother because she's leaving because she hates him. Shoving, slapping, punching, bruises. No one is safe and no where is safe anyway. Red, purple, yellow, blue. Black. He couldn't breathe. But she had never actually left before. He made her watch what he could do with his whiskey-strength, and sometimes he would show her.

"Daryl!" Merle's voice brought him back to reality. "Run to the car!"

Merle tackled their dad down, and that was all Daryl saw as he tore back through the forest. It was pitch black in the woods, and the only light came from the half moon in the clear Georgia sky. He hated himself because he was running, like a coward. He hated that his mom left. He hated her. He finally reached the boxcar and didn't even bother using the ladder. He scaled the car in the light of the moon, and dropped inside. He used an old Bic lighter to locate an oil lamp that they had stashed there a few weeks before. Lighting this cast wispy shadows across the wooden walls of the car, which made Daryl shudder for no reason. He placed the lamp on the floor, wrapped himself in a blanket, and curled up on a mattress to wait for Merle.

—-

Daryl was woken abruptly by a slap to the back of the head. "Don't fucking fall asleep with that goddamn lantern on, you little shit," he heard Merle say from across the car. He heard his brother stalk over to the other side of the car and collapse onto the other mattress. Daryl grabbed the lantern and scurried across the car to his brother.

"I shouldn't have left you," he began. "I shouldn't have ran, I could've helped-" He stopped talking when the light hit his brothers face. He was harshly greeted by a beaten in face and blood matted in various places.

"Well, I told you to run," Merle answered gruffly. "This ain't nothing." He turned on the mattress with his back now to Daryl. "Go away."

"What happened with mom?" Daryl blurted out.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Merle bellowed at the wall. "She had it, Daryl!" He flipped back over with a pained grimace and stared into his little brothers unbelieving face. "She had enough of dad, enough of me, and even enough of her precious, beloved, angel-baby _Daryl_!" As Merle said 'Daryl', he sent a wave of spit over Daryl's face. "Go to fucking sleep. Or go back home. I don't give a damn." Merle turned back to the wall, and Daryl shuffled back over to his bed.

The next morning, soon after the sun was up, Merle was shaking Daryl awake. "It's Monday, little brother," he yelled as he shook the sixteen year old. He forced Daryl out of the safety of the boxcar, and made him go to school. Daryl hated high school. Merle didn't even finish, and he didn't see why he had to. The kids teased him. They said he was dirty. He was, he wouldn't argue with them at all. He honest didn't remember the last time he took a shower, but he did swim in the rivers a lot. He slid into his designated workspace in his first period art class thirty minutes late. The girl next to him stared. He stared right back. The older, former-hippie art teacher walked slowly past Daryl's row, and stopped in front of him. Daryl concentrated on staring at the desk.

"Mr. Dixon, when did you slide in here?" He asked knowingly.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "I've been here the whole time, sir," he answered as innocently as he could.

The teacher looked at the girl across from him. "Sadie, has this young man been here since the start of class? Did I just miss him?"

The girl smiled at Daryl and nodded. "Of course he's been here. You must have missed him. We were just discussing Gauguin."

The oblivious teacher moved on, and Daryl stared at the girl with a mixture of awe and fascination.

"My name's Sadie," she said matter-of-factly.

"I figured that."


	3. family reunion

3

Daryl talked to her whenever he could. She became a shining light in a dark place. He would always be on time for art class, but would never stay for a full day of school. Sadie told him about the great artists she admired, her favorite movements. He understood none of it. He took in her brown-blonde hair and her sweet disposition and it nourished him. He didn't feel like a bad guy when she was with him. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, and wanted to feel her hands tangled in his. She told him about her brother, Jesse, and his drug problems. He told her a bit about Merle; she, like the rest of the town, knew about Merle. He was sure she knew about his dad too. But he didn't talk about that. He told her about his alcoholic mother. He did not, however, mention that he hadn't seen her for about three weeks. So the surprise in the house was palpable the afternoon that Daryl came home to find his mom sitting in their kitchen like she never left.

Jolene Dixon was a woman who had had the best intentions. She had intended to raise Merle with Dallas, because Dallas could have been Merle's father. She had intended to be a good mother to her sons, and she had intended to protect them from harm. Sometimes all she had was just good intentions.

Daryl walked in on her sitting at the dining room table around two in the afternoon, with a half drunk bottle of cheap red wine next to her.

She and her son made eye contact, and Daryl slowly sat down across from her.

"The house is so quiet," she finally said.

"Dad's at work and I don't know where the hell Merle is," Daryl replied evenly.

"Daryl, I don't like it when you say 'hell'," she said softly.

Daryl shot up to his feet. "Well, I don't like it when you just up and leave! What the fuck was that, mom? Huh?" He hadn't noticed it, but he was suddenly up in her face. He instantly felt sorry for it when she shrank away from him.

"I know, honey," she whispered.

Daryl leaned against the edge of the kitchen sink, his back to her. "It's two in the afternoon, mom. Are you drunk?" Silence. "Is it so bad? Are we so bad?"

She came up behind him and tried to hug him. "No, no, baby, you're not bad, not at all," she began.

She smelled like more than one bottle of wine, and he found himself shaking.

"I went to Atlanta, baby," she whispered into his shoulder. "I want to take you and your brother back with me. Just us."

Daryl turned to face her. "Dad?"

Jolene Dixon shook her little head determinedly. "No."

He left her in the kitchen and went out to search for Merle. Walking down onto main street, he ran into Sadie as he passed the post office.

"Daryl!" she called excitedly. She nearly sprinted up to him. "I didn't see you in school today, after art class."

He ran his hands through his hair instinctively and reminded himself of a preening peacock. "Yeah, I had to leave," he answered nonchalantly, implying that the subject was closed. "Have you seen Merle?"

She shook her head and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. "Nah, I haven't seen him, but I'll help you look," she replied eagerly.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders in a most James Dean-esque way, and she fell into step. She noticed her was heading to the forest.

"The woods?" she asked.

Daryl sighed. "My brother needs to see my mom." The next thing he knew, he was telling this inquisitive artistic spirit all about his hideout with Merle. He had hoped that it would sound stupid to her, sound unappealing. But it was the exact opposite. She was ecstatic, and couldn't wait to see it.

As they approached, Daryl retrieved the hidden ladder from under a fallen tree. He propped it against the side, when he heard a strange sound.

"Stay here til I tell you to come up," he instructed as he climbed up. As he peered into the belly of the car, he found the culprit of the sound. Merle was down there alright. Lying on top of a naked girl, butt-naked himself. The sounds that the two were making were beginning to carry outside of the car. Daryl's face turned all shades of red and purple. He scrambled back down the ladder, and onto the grass by Sadie.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Is someone in there?"

"No," he answered quickly. "No one there at all." She looked at him, and he knew that she could tell he was lying. "I should get you back to town."

After walking Sadie home, Daryl sauntered slowly back to his own. Their dad was done with work, and Daryl had no idea what would happen when Dallas saw Jolene. He wanted to warn Merle. He wanted Merle there with him. The family's old truck was in the driveway and Daryl stopped in his tracks.

"What's the matter, little brother, stuck in quicksand?"

Daryl turned and thankfully saw Merle walking up the road to him. "Mom's back," he could barely say in a whisper. It carried on the wind to Merle's ears, and he stopped too. "She already must have had at least two bottles of wine." He gave his brother a dirty look. "Went lookin' for you. Found you in the boxcar."

"So fucking what, Sherlock," Merle spat. "We got bigger fish to fry. He began a steady march toward the house, with Daryl not far behind.

What they walked in on was nothing new. Their mom was in the far corner of the living room, their dad in the corner closest to them. They looked like two washed-up, drunken cage fighters, each displaying small traces of the bloody red badge of close combat. Daryl ran to his moms side, while Merle engaged their dad. "Hitting a woman, Dally," Merle shot dangerously playfully, using their dad's nickname. "A drunk woman? Now, now."

Dallas stepped toward Merle and hissed, "You calm down or you're next, boy!" As Dallas lunged at Merle, Jolene made a grab for Dallas.

"Leave them alone!" she screamed, trying to pull her husband off her son.

Dallas reacted, maybe he was just swatting air, maybe it was intentional. The back of his hand hit the side of Jolene's face, and his big silver ring split her lip open. Daryl saw red and pounced into the fight with Merle, landing some solid hits to his old man's torso. Their mom's screams brought them back into the moment. The brothers turned and she was just kneeling on the floor screaming. Daryl went to check on her, and didn't notice Merle slip out the door.

"He wasn't happy to see me," she stated decidedly. "I don't blame him."

"He couldn't handle it a different way?" Daryl found his voice sounding higher than normal. He found his actions going into autopilot as he wrapped some ice cubes in a cloth napkin. "He's gonna wake up soon," he concluded, handing her the homemade ice pack.

"I'm going to go pack some things. You and Merle make yourselves scarce for a few hours. We're to leave for Atlanta as soon as we can."

Daryl looked at his young mother and wanted to send her away in the car right now, by herself, far away, someplace nice. His gray eyes scanned the room though his long bangs. "Merle's already gone."


	4. gone

4

Once again Daryl found himself scouring the town for Merle. Atlanta sounded like a short and hollow pipe dream. But it had to be better than this. Daryl refused to go look in their boxcar. He couldn't help feel like Merle tainted it by having sex in it. He couldn't help but wonder how many times it had happened. He could visit Merle's dealer. Merle would want drugs at a time like this. He could visit Merle's girlfriend, but he didn't really know which one he was with currently. So he did neither. Hours passed, and Daryl knew he was wandering in aimless circles like a drunken zombie. He gave up and returned to a house where both its two adult inhabitants were lying passed out on its floors.

He took care of his mom first. He cleaned her face a bit, and hoisted her arm over his shoulder. She staggered and he helped her from the kitchen table to the bedroom. He took off her muddy boots and tucked her into the blankets. He yanked his dad up with little to no care, then dropped him when he made a sound. He sat him in the easy chair, and kicked out the lever, slamming his legs out. Daryl glared as his dad reacted to none of it. He trudged to his room and angrily slammed the door shut.

The next morning Daryl awoke to sunlight streaming into his bedroom window. The house was quiet. Still wearing the clothes from the night before, Daryl slid out of bed and stepped lightly into the kitchen. The living room. He glanced out the front window and saw his dad's truck was gone. His heart leapt to his throat as he wondered if his mom left without them. No sooner than he thought this, he was interrupted by a small cough coming from the bedroom. Relieved to hear his mom's asthmatic smoker cough, he dashed into the bedroom. He swung open the door to see his mom lying in bed with one arm wrapped around a bottle, and the opposite hand holding a smoldering cigarette.

She looked up at him. "The house is quiet."

He sighed, and walked in. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, I like it like this."

"I'm sorry," she said looking past him.

"I ain't." He stared back into her eyes, and was reminded that he had her gray eyes. Her mouth formed a shocked little o and he continued. "None of this shocks me anymore, it happens all the time." She opened her mouth to protest. "All the fucking time! I'll go to Atlanta, sure. But Merle won't. You know that." He stood back up and turned to face her. "We should go right now." He began to get excited. "Now, ma, we could go right now, it's perfect."

But Jolene shook her head sadly and said, "We ain't going nowhere without your brother."

Daryl took a step back. He knew at once he was stupid to believe in Atlanta, even for a minute. He nodded, accepting this grim defeat. He turned to walk out of the room. "Use an ashtray, ma," he said emotionlessly as he closed the door behind him.

—-

As Saturday passed with a lazy pace, Daryl found himself sitting in a tree high above the ground. His was back against the large tree trunk and he let his legs dangle. Every so often the crossbow hanging over his lap would hit his leg. He couldn't find Merle. When they were little, he always knew where Merle was and what he was doing, because he was usually with him. But as they got older, Merle made different choices. He took rockier paths, and did things Daryl couldn't bring himself to do.

At twenty-one Merle was reckless. He had tried almost every drug under the sun, and was addicted to a few. Drug possession charges stuck, as they began at an early age. The same went for STDs. A squirrel darted up a tree nearby and Daryl shot it in the head from above. He felt a dark satisfaction in hurting something defenseless, and tried to shake it from himself. His nose suddenly picked up a burning smell, and he looked up to see smoke filling the sky. He figured someone was burning their garbage. Soon he heard the sirens, there were a lot of sirens. He noticed that they were pretty close, too. He swung down from the tree and slung the crossbow over his shoulder, and headed back into town to investigate.

As he neared his street, he noticed that that was where the commotion was. Kids whizzed past him on bicycles, chattering about the excitement of seeing a fire. As they saw Daryl they grew silent. Then he saw that it was his own house up in flames.

Time stopped. He felt the ground meet his knees and it cut into the skin, but he didn't feel it. He heard a heart-shattering scream, and realized it was him. He heard Merle behind him, and felt a hand on his shoulder. "She's inside," Daryl gasped at his brother. "She's _inside_."

Merle dropped to the ground beside him, and threw his arms protectively around him. "I know, little brother."

The brothers stayed down for another minute, not daring to move because this might not be real.

—-

The next week was a blur. She had fallen asleep in bed with the wine and the cigarettes. The blankets caught fire as she slept, but the firemen said that she was probably asphyxiated by the smoke before she began to burn. Daryl didn't know how that was supposed to be any better. It rained all day the day that they buried her. All the Dixon household felt the slice of a matriarch lost. Dallas rented a one bedroom trailer for him and the boys, where Dallas got the bedroom and the boys had a futon and a sofa bed. When they were both open, the entire living space was filled. But they were rarely both open at the same time. Merle began staying with girls, and had developed a system of rotation among them. Sadie had expressed her condolences at the funeral, and Daryl told her to leave him alone. He didn't want to care about anyone anymore, because it seemed like it would always end badly anyway. The first night in the trailer, Dallas went out to the bar and left the boys alone. Daryl was horrified when he learned that Merle had given her the cigarettes. "You killed her," he had accused Merle, point blank.

A switch flipped and Merle's eyes had lit up like something Daryl had never seen before. Merle had launched himself across the room and wrapped his hands around Daryl's throat. "Don't you fucking _dare_ blame me, you little shit," continuing to squeeze Daryl's throat. "I know what I did!" He threw Daryl down on the floor and stood over him as Daryl tried to get his breathing back under control. Merle began to pace the confines of the trailer. "Four packs. I just bought her four, she's usually careful…"

Daryl stood back up and straightened himself. "Well, she wasn't."

Merle looked evenly back at him and said, "Nah, nah, wasn't, was she?"

Daryl eventually told Merle about her plan to leave for Atlanta, and Merle confirmed his suspicions when even he admitted he wouldn't go. He shook his head and had said, "You should have gone."

The Georgia moon filled the small interior of the trailer, and Daryl curled up tighter on the couch. He was awoken out of a sound sleep a few hours later. He squinted his eyes to read the tiny red numbers on the clock radio across the room. 2:30 a.m.. The screen door being swung open way too fast had woken him up. He remained motionless on the couch, and kept an eye on the doorway. He soon saw the unsteady silhouette of his dad come into view. Dallas stumbled in, and slammed the door closed behind him.

"Shit hole!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, to no one in particular. It rang through the room and bounced off the walls. Daryl heard a smash and knew Dallas had punched something. He heard more smashed, some crashing, glass and porcelain breaking. Daryl prayed the lights wouldn't be turned on. In confirmation that there was no god, the lights came on blazing like a horrible fluorescent explosion. Daryl's eyes adjusted and came to focus on the man standing above him.

"Daryl, you're mom's gone," Dallas moaned. He fell to his knees and repeated himself. "I don't know how this happened," he said almost to himself. Daryl edged farther away from him, as the smell of alcohol was overpowering.

Still half asleep, Daryl attempted to get comfortable again on the couch. "Ask Merle, he bought her the goddamn smokes," he muttered. As soon as he said it he knew it was wrong. Slow but powerful hands yanked him off the couch and held him in the air by his shirt.

"What the fuck are you talkin' about, boy," Dallas growled into Daryl's face.

"He bought her the packs, he was tryin' to be nice-" Daryl began desperately. He felt himself flying through the air, and landed by the kitchen sink.

"You two little cunt's killed your mother!" Dallas shrieked. "Do you understand that?"

Daryl stood up and shot back, once again not thinking. "Only reason she was in the state she was in was 'cause of you!" Dallas began to lumber toward him, and Daryl wished Merle was there. "She wanted to leave!" Daryl yelled, just as Dallas took a swing.

Daryl took it, but then let his own fist fly. It made satisfying contact with his dad's face. "Sittin' and drinking and smoking made her happy, she was happy then," he screamed.

Dallas suddenly stopped. "Did you see her before it happened?"

Daryl took a second to catch his breath. He realized his dad's last memory of her was breaking her lip open. "Yeah, I saw her," Daryl answered slowly. "A few hours before."

Dallas stepped closer and closer to Daryl, until he was almost nose to nose. "So why didn't you stop her?"

Daryl realized he didn't have an answer.


	5. four

5

"How many," his dad mumbled.

Daryl gaped at him, confused. He felt the side of his face starting to bruise. "What?"

"How many packs, you fuck," his dad yelled, beating him back down to the floor.

Daryl lay on his stomach and stared at the cheap and peeling linoleum. "Four," he whispered. "Just four.

"Ain't 'just four'," Dallas said slowly from above him.

Daryl didn't know what he was talking about, but he heard his dad unbuckling his belt. He began to scramble on the floor, trying to get up and away. "No," he muttered, "no, no,no," as he was knocked back down to the floor.

"You stay down there," Dallas continued darkly. "You're gonna count. Just four."

The belt was nothing new to Merle, but it was to Daryl. Maybe this was why Merle had made himself so scarce as they had gotten older. The belt buckle was heavy and solid, and its leather had been aged well over the past few years. Daryl saw no way out of this, so he closed his eyes and locked his jaw in preparation for the inevitable. He heard a grunt, a swish of air, silence, and then the stars exploded in front of his eyes. He let out a scream like a wounded animal.

"That's just one, you little bitch," Dallas spat at him. "Say it."

"No!"

But it happened again. "Say it!" Dallas screamed, and Daryl felt blood.

"One," Daryl replied meekly.

—-

As Daryl dropped into the sanctuary of the boxcar, he felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. He hadn't had a chance to look at his back, but he knew that there were a lot more than just four stripes back there. He lit a lantern, and sat down on a mattress. He tried to take of his shirt, but found to his dismay that it was bound to him by blood. He let out a frustrated cry, threw himself down on his stomach, and finally fell asleep.

He woke up to sunlight and birds singing outside the boxcar. He went through the motions to try to get up, and found himself wincing. The night before came flooding back, and he decided he wasn't going back there anytime soon. He located the backpack he and Merle had stashed there, and found a clean shirt. A baggie of meth fell out of the balled up shirt.  
"Goddamn it," Daryl cursed as he kicked it across the floor. He wanted to know where the fuck his brother was. His shirt was still stuck to him with his own dried blood, so bit his lip and yelped as he yanked it off like a bandaid. He held the dirty shirt in his hand and surveyed the damage.

The two reddest areas on the shirt were up by his shoulders. This made sense, because they still felt like they were on fire. He threw the shirt across the room in disgust. Merle would have at least tried to fight back, he thought to himself angrily. The air felt good on his back, so he lay back down on the bed on his stomach and let himself fall back to sleep. ¸

He slept for hours, completely undisturbed. He didn't dream about anything. He shook himself away when he heard a soft voice calling his name. "Ma?" he muttered groggily.

"Daryl?!" the voice called out again."Daryl Dixon?"

The voice was getting closer, and he realized that it was Sadie. He leapt from the floor, threw on the clean shirt and shoved the drugs under the mattress. "Sadie?" he called up. He saw her dirty blonde hair pop over the side of the overturned car.

"Daryl!" she cried out happily.

Her smile made him blush and he thought her voice was the most beautiful thing that he had heard in a while. "Come on down," he encouraged. There was a ladder, but he wanted to see if she would do the free fall jump that he and Merle had perfected. She did, and she landed with a level of grace that had never been seen in the boxcar before.

She surveyed the inside of the car. "This is cool," she said with a giggle. "I've never seen the inside." She stood shyly in front of Daryl, still smiling.

"Why're you here?" he asked gruffly.

She looked taken aback by his demeanor, but continued anyway. "You haven't been in school for a while. People were starting to talk."

"Oh, were they," Daryl said with a sneer. He realized he probably sounded like his brother.

"I was worried about you, that was all. I'm sorry, I won't do it again," she answered huffily. She looked around. "How do I get out of here?"

"Well, you dropped in. So you gotta run and jump to grab the door a bit." She looked at him skeptically and he couldn't help but smile back at her. "Come on, it ain't hard, go on," he gestured. She made a valiant attempt, but was was too little to reach. She landed a few feet away and spun around, visibly annoyed. He let out a laugh. It echoed in the car, and he realized he hadn't heard his own laugh or had had a reason to for a while.

"Stop laughing at me!"

He walked back over to the mattress and sat down. "I'll go get you the ladder in a second," he promised. He realized that he himself should have brought the ladder down, because it would be agony to climb back out. She walked toward him and studied his face. "You've got a black eye," she stated.

"So?"

"Was it your brother or your dad?"

He pushed himself farther away from her and glared. "What makes you think it was either of them, anyway?" But she looked at him in a way that he knew was pointless to argue with. Besides, you can't argue with the truth anyway.

"You're not like them, Daryl," she said softly.

He felt her eyes on him and refused to meet her gaze. "You don't know me. I could be just like them."

She sat down next to him. "I don't think you are."

She smelled like strawberries and he could feel warmth emitting from her skin. He attempted to get his ragged breathing under control. In his peripheral vision he saw her tiny hand flutter toward his shoulder. Her fingertips barely even grazed his shirt, but he instinctively jerked away from her touch.

The look he gave her broke her sixteen year old heart. "When my daddy gets mad at me, he takes the batteries out of my walkman," she began. "I carry on like it's the end of the world."

Daryl stared intently at the floor. "I'm sorry things are rough for you," he snapped.

She let out an exasperated sound. "Look, I'm sorry. Don't make this about me, though. Just because I can't relate doesn't mean I don't feel things any less!" She got up and began to make another attempt to get out of the car.

Daryl sighed, and stretched back out on his stomach again, "Don't go, though," he said loudly. "Please." He finally found her eyes. "I know I can be an asshole. I'm sorry."

She a big smile and sat back down next to him. "You're a smooth talker, Daryl Dixon."


	6. scars

6

He lay back on the mattress with his elbows supporting him as Sadie writhed around on top of him. Every few seconds their mouths would manage to meet for enthusiastic wild kisses. In the angle that he positioned himself in, he almost forgot how much pain he was actually in. They had been talking about their childhoods, they talked about how they would live fast, love hard, and not be a thing like their parents. He kissed her first, leaning down over her, and got delightfully lost and tangled in her hair. She ripped off her shirt over her head and Daryl was greeted with a sinfully risqué pink bra with frilly assorted bows and ribbons. She slid out of her jeans and straddled him.

His brain was all over the place, as was his heart and his blood flow. He did not know what to do next. He had never gotten this far ever, actually. But it seemed like she'd been here before. He kissed her back hard and ran his hands all over her skin. His hands were rough and a bit cut up, and Sadie let out a moan. She tugged at his belt buckle, undid it, and snapped it out of its belt loops in a swift motion. It made a sharp 'crack' sound that made Daryl's muscles tense, and as the buckle clattered to the floor his adrenaline buzzed in. He held her upper arms firmly in place, and eased her off of him. "I can't do this right now," he mumbled hoarsely.

Her hair billowed around her shoulders. She looked down at him, reached out a hand, and gently traced the edge of his black eye. "Sure you can, Daryl," she almost whined. "It's healthy to let all this out…"

Daryl got up off the bed, and shakily put his belt back on. "You should get dressed," he said curtly, looking around for her scattered clothes. He didn't notice her come up from behind him, to give him a hug. She pushed his new scars deeper into his skin and he shook her off. "Don't."

"What did I do? Is it me? Did I come on too strong?" Sadie began breaking herself down into hysterics.

"Of course it's not fucking you, you're beautiful!" he yelled. He threw back his head ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair. "You're beautiful," he repeated in a lower voice. "You don't need me. Fuck, no one needs me. You deserve beautiful things, nice things, unscarred people!" He returned to the mattress, and sat hunched over with his head cradled in his hands.

She knelt down on the floor gazed at him at eye level. "Just because you can't see the scars, it don't mean they're not there," she philosophized with a wisdom far beyond her years.

At these words Daryl found himself collapsing into her arms. He knew he was acting like a little bitch. He knew he was carrying on, but the gates had been opened. He let her hold him as his body shook from the frustration and as his mismanaged breathing gave way to choking guttural sobs. He hadn't really had a chance to even grieve for his mom. Since that fateful Saturday, he had wound himself up so tight that he could barely breathe. Always on edge. He took a deep breath, finally picked his head up, and saw that Sadie was crying too.

They didn't leave the car. The afternoon gave way to the evening and when the stars came out Daryl and Sadie lay beneath it in the boxcar, staring up into the stars. They talked about everything under the sun, they talked about everything under the moon. When they got hungry they ate the various bits of junk food left in the scavenging back pack. He told her about the time that he was certain he saw a chupacabra in the woods. He asked her if she wanted to stay there with him for the night. She asked dreamily if she could stay forever, and Daryl knew he was in love.


	7. truths

7

"I have to go tell my parents I'm staying at a friends tonight," she thought out loud, her eyes far away.

"Could just tell 'em the truth," Daryl suggested playfully.

Sadie narrowed her clear blue eyes and smirked. "Mom, Dad, I won't be staying here tonight- I'll be in a dark isolated boxcar with Daryl Dixon."

"Ain't that dark, but I got an oil lamp over there if you want," he offered, defending his boxcar.

She raised her eye brows. "Yeah, telling them about the lamp will make it ok."

Daryl cupped his hands together and gave her a boost out of the car, his shoulders burning the whole time. "You want me to bring anything back?" she called down.

There were many things. Antiseptic ointment. Another clean shirt. More food. A different life. He opted for the food. "Any food your parents wont notice missing is good!" he yelled back up. He heard her footsteps fade away. He stood in the silence for a few seconds, when it was shattered by a scream. He instantly wanted to punch himself. It was almost dark out, why had he sent her back out there by herself? "Sadie!" he screamed.

His eyes darted around the car for something he could climb on the get closer to the door. Not seeing anything, he retreated down the length of the car in preparation to make the exit leap. It was then that he heard the metal clang of a ladder against the car. Merle. Of course. His heard his brother drag the ladder over the car, and let it clatter to the car's floor.

As Merle climbed down, Daryl let him have it. "Where the hell have you been?" he hissed. "Where the fuck have you been," he repeated louder, shoving Merle off the last rung of the ladder. Merle ignored his questions and stared back. Daryl looked at his brothers eyes and realized he was high. "You're pathetic," Daryl shot.

Merle's momentary lapse with reality ended and he faced his brother. He took in Daryl 's beaten up face. "Ain't we both, though?" he said with a chuckle. He passed by Daryl and made a bee line for the backpack. "How you been, little brother," Merle asked distractedly as he pawed through the bag.

"I been better," Daryl said dryly. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been around," Merle said with a shrug. "I stay with Dixie. I stay with Jessica. They all blend together after a while… 'Course," he said with a sneer, "it looks like you're about to discover all that for yourself."

"Why did Sadie scream?"

"She ain't quiet in the woods, Daryl. I got up too close to her and startled her," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Pretty little thing, though. Goddamn!" Merle yelled suddenly, throwing the backpack across the floor. "We've been robbed!"

Daryl dove to the floor and snatched the bag of meth from under the mattress. "Lookin' for this?" He dangled it in front of his brother.

"Give it here," Merle insisted instantly.

Daryl realized this was his chance to make sure Merle heard him. "I want to stay where ever you stay," he said softly.

Merle gave him a skeptical look. "Where I stay ain't any good for you. You're sixteen."

"Well, where I stay ain't any good either," Daryl shot back.

Merle understood what Daryl was saying. He looked at Daryl's black eye. "You gotta fight back," was all he said.

Daryl let out an aggravated yell and threw the drugs at Merle. "I shouldn't have to," he muttered under his breath.

Merle heard him, stepped closer and in an out of character moment put his hand gently on Daryl's shoulder. "All people got to deal with life, little brother. People deal different ways." His eyes dropped to the drugs in his other hand. "Some people got to fight more than others. Some don't even have to fight at all."

Daryl shook his brothers hand from him. "Fuck this."

Merle walked back to the back pack and pulled out the bloody shirt from the night before. "It as bad as it looks?"

"Don't know, why don't you tell me," Daryl said darkly as he began to pull his shirt over his head. "You tell me!" He spun so his back was facing Merle and he heard the back pack fall to the floor.

"Sweet motherfuckin' baby Jesus," Merle let out in a hushed voice. "What'd you do to-"

"Nothing!" Daryl screamed. "I did _nothing_, I was _asleep_!" Merle began to say something but Daryl cut him off. "I did nothing the whole time," he ranted angrily. "The whole fucking time."

Merle nodded. "I know. But next time you just gotta do something."

The thought of there being a next time made Daryl want to throw up. "I can't," he said decidedly. "I'm gonna live here. In the boxcar."

Merle shrugged. "Fine by me. Dad probably won't even notice." He turned and climbed back out of the car. "I'll leave you the ladder," he called. "You're gonna need it. I'll bring you some shit for the welts." He turned to go, then paused to yell back down again. "I'll get you some shit, but you can't hide in a goaddamned boxcar for the rest of your stupid life!"

—-

After Merle left Daryl climbed up onto the boxcar with the lantern and a flashlight to wait for Sadie. He toyed with the grim possibility that her parents hadn't let her back out again. He had never had that problem, he thought smugly. He heard a rustle in the dark and flicked on the flashlight. His face cracked into a grin when he saw Sadie in the beam of light. She had on a backpack and was carrying a large duffle bag. She tossed up the bag, and the two maneuvered the ladder.

She climbed down into the car. "This is a great space," she began. "I brought you some things to make it feel even more home-like," she said shyly.

Daryl took this moment to wonder if God was really a woman.

She set the back pack down and began to unpack the duffel bag. She pulled out a set of clean white sheets, a pillow, and a heavy looking purple blanket. Obscenely and obnoxiously purple. "Purple is my favorite color," she explained, slightly embarrassed.

"No one's gonna miss any of this?"

"I said I was staying at Annie's- she's my best friend, by the way, and I wanted to bring my own sheets for the trundle bed. Besides, my own stupid brother, Jesse, he causes enough chaos to keep them occupied-"

"Why?" he interrupted. He looked at her point blank. It was more like a statement than a question. "Why are you doing all of this?"

She shrugged. "Because I think everyone deserves something. Or someone. I don't know."

"You feel bad for me," he accused her.

She looked him square in the eye and he saw a fire that he had never noticed before. As it burned, she took a deep breath. "Yes, I do, Daryl Dixon. I feel bad that you seem like a cool person but have a shitty hand dealt to you. I feel bad that your mom died and left you here." She took a breath to see if he would interrupt her, but he didn't. "I feel bad that you've never really known the levels of love and happiness that I've felt." He started to defend himself, but she continued. "I ain't patronizing you, so don't accuse me," she said cooly. "You hungry?"


	8. special delivery

8

She brought real food in real glass containers. This alone floored Daryl. Macaroni and cheese, baked beans, potato chips. She had stopped by the gas station and gotten him a box of cheap plastic forks. "Make sure you dispose of these properly," she lectured as she handed him the box. He thought he promised to, but wasn't sure. The beans had hints of brown sugar and bacon. She brought various sized candles. As he inhaled a fair share of the food, she set about making the bed. She stacked the mattresses on top of each other, then put the clean sheets on the top mattress. Daryl watched as she fluffed the pillow, then flung the blanket out over her handiwork.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then rubbed it on the thigh of his jeans. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"It's getting late. You should probably get some sleep."

He nodded to the bed, which looks better now by far. "You make yourself comfortable and I'll be right there." He didn't know if Merle was coming back or not, and he didn't want him to scare her again. "I'm going to go sit on the car for a bit."

She shrugged and began to unmake the bed as Daryl climbed back up. The light from inside the car emitted a slight orange glow and the night air felt good against his face. He wasn't up there long until he heard Merle calling from down below.

"You gonna give me the ladder?"

"No, you gotta climb up," Daryl answered stubbornly.

"Heads up then!" Another backpack came sailing through the air and Daryl barely dodged it.

"Daryl, is someone here?" A worried voice sounded from the car.

"It's just Merle."

"Just Merle, just Merle," Merle repeated to himself like a joke.

"Stop cackling, you jackass," Daryl said as he helped his brother onto the car.

Merle kicked the bag toward Daryl. "I got you some ointment. Some food. Some bandages. Your crossbow." As he unslung the crossbow from his back, he leaned closer to Daryl and whispered, "Condoms."

Daryl blushed in the darkness. "I-I don't… uh, know…" he stuttered. He saw Merle smile in the dark.

"Ain't never done _it_, have you?"

Silence.

"Well, that girl you're down there with, that Pinkman girl," he whispered. "She has."

"Shut up, Merle."

"Take this."

Daryl felt something leather being nudged into his hands.

"I'll see you around."

Before Daryl could say goodbye, his brother slipped back into the darkness. He sighed and climbed back down into the dimly lit car.

"Whatcha got there?" Sadie asked, gesturing to the object in his hand.

Daryl looked down and dropped it like it was a deadly snake. "Nothing." He fought the urge to spit on the vest that lay on the floor between them.

She studied it. "Don't look like nothing." She took in the faded and slightly torn wings sewn on the vest's back. "I've seen you wear that before."

Daryl kicked it into the corner of the car. "Ain't mine. It's my dads. Look," he began. "Merle brought me some stuff, too. Um. Uh. Well…"

She giggled. "_What_, Daryl? What is it?" He dug around in the backpack and pulled out a small package of Trojans. Her eyes widened. "Oh, jeez, Daryl, I-"

"I'm not suggesting anything at all, I just wanted you to know that… uh. Merle got them. I didn't tell him to, though, or anything like that," Daryl rambled. "You can sleep in the bed, I was plannin' on the floor anyway-"

She got up and met him in the middle of the boxcar and he noticed that she had taken off her pants while she was under the blanket. She stood in front of him, and her blue eyes came level with his chin. She looked slowly up at him, and gently wrapped her arms around him. She stood on her tip toes and lightly kissed his neck. "It's fine, Daryl," she whispered. "It's all fine." She led him by the hand back to the bed, and sat him down. "Do you want to have sex with me, Daryl Dixon?" she asked shyly. She began to run her hands up and down his thighs.

"I've never had sex before!" he let out in one rushed agonized breath.

"There's a first for everything," she cooed, coaxing and maneuvering him onto the makeshift bed. She balanced herself on his hips and tucked her feet under his legs. "Lay back, Daryl." she instructed. He obeyed and she noted his almost instantaneous desire to please her.

The sheets were clean and rough and pressed his old tshirt into his back. It began to throb. He gritted his teeth and tried to push the burn to the darkest corners of his mind.

"Take your shirt off," Sadie purred, tugging at it playfully.

He slapped her hand before he realized what he was doing.

"What now?"

"I want to keep my shirt on."

"_Why_?"

"I also want to go on top," he insisted.

She threw up her hands, and let him up. "Whatever makes your virginal self happy," she said with a sigh. As his feet hit the floor she knelt up playfully on the bed and tried to jerk his shirt off over his head. She yanked it back down almost as soon as she lifted it.

"Don't!" he yelped swatting to protect the small circle of protection around him. He darted across the boxcar and sat in the darkest corner.

"Daryl, I had no idea," she said with a gasp. "Those look bad, you might need stitches!"

Silence.

"Daryl!"

"They're starting to scab over, I don't need nothing!" he yelled at the silhouette of the girl across the room. She didn't move. "Just go to bed, Sadie."

"Will you come lay with me?"

"Sure."

He slid down into the sheets with her and felt her force herself determinedly into his arms. "Goodnight, Sadie," he whispered, running his fingertips across her hair.

"Goodnight," Daryl.

—-

"Daryl, wake up. Wake up!"

His eyes shot open and his first thought was how warm he was. He had never been this warm in the car before. Then he saw Sadie standing over him, and the bright purple blanket that was tucked around him.

"It's time for school! I think. It's early-ish, but it's definitely Monday morning."

He rolled over. "I ain't goin'." Yawned. "Just try to get me up, it ain't happening."

"Well, fine," she muttered pulling on her jeans. "I'm going. I'll come by after school?"

Daryl sat up, nodded. "Hey, Sadie," he called as she started up the ladder. She paused. "Don't tell anyone about this place, okay?"

She climbed back down, glided over to him, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Never."


	9. shotgun willie's

9

He fell back into a sound sleep soon after Sadie left. The blanket smelled like her. When he felt up to it, he leisurely got out of the bed. He pulled on his jeans from the night before and tugged on his military grade combat boots, then climbed out of the car and made his way to the nearby creek. There kicked off his boots and rolled up his jeans. The sunlight was warm and reflected in the moving water. He waded into the creek and washed his face and arms, then used the bloody tshirt to try to clean his back a bit. Returning to the boxcar and feeling a little cleaner, he felt around where he could and used the ointment Merle brought, then wrapped the long bandage around his whole torso. He dug around some more in the backpack Merle brought because it still seemed heavy. Lying on the bottom of the canvas bag was a big, heavy-duty hunting knife, complete with holster.

It was a knife that Daryl had seen all his life; it was also his dads. Dallas had taught his boys how to skin the animals they caught with this knife, Daryl had seen this knife end countless wild lives. He knew why Merle gave it to him. It was a message, clear as day.

Sure, Daryl knew how to skin and animal once it was good and dead. It was the final act, the actual mercy kill, that he could never do. The first time Merle plunged the blade into a dying deers heart, their father was beyond proud. He smeared the deers blood under the boys eyes like football players, streaked it across their small cheeks with a wolfish gin. He even gave the then thirteen year old Merle a beer. Only eight at the time, Daryl had been there. He had looked into the deers eyes as its soul left it. It took forever to get the red stain out of his skin. Even now when he was out with his cross bow he would fell the animal, and once he was still a good distance away, line everything up and deliver a clear shot to the brain. Forget the heart. Let it try to think it's still alive and keep pounding on. Forget the heart. Merle put this knife in the bag with a sole message: man up.

Daryl slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the knife and squeezed tighter and tighter, funneling his anger and frustration into the blade. He let out a roar and slammed the knife into the floor boards. Took a deep breath and carefully stood up. The hand that had been clutching the knife was shaking and his knuckles were white. He began to tear around the car like a caged animal. Boxcars aren't meant for people. He scooped his crossbow off the floor and fell instantly into it's comforting stance. The bandage around his body tightened and pinched at his skin as he raised the bow. "Goddamn!" he yelled, hurling the crossbow into the metal wall. They clanging sound that rang out as it hit metal against metal was oddly satisfying. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and looked up at the sky. As he got his breathing under control, he started to notice the birds singing outside. He took one long deep breath, and began a search for his shirt. Finding it discarded in the corner that he had fled to the night before, he studied it in the light. He cursed as soon as he realized there were blatant stains of dried blood on it from reopening welts. Maybe he did need stitches. He needed clothes. He slipped the shirt over his head regardless, then gingerly stared at Dallas's vest. He tentatively picked it up. He had worn it countless times before, it was practically his. Dallas hadn't fit into it for years, and Merle used to wear it until he outgrew it completely.

It was the knowledge that this vest's original owner had damaged the two who now wore it. He let his finger tips involuntarily trace the white wings and the stitching. He remembered when he was really little and his dad would come home from work, drape the vest over his small shoulders and tell him that the wings were a guardian angels, and kept safe who ever wore it. The cruel irony that the devil used to be an angel was not lost on him.

The inside collar had 'DIXON' sewn messily into it with heavy red thread and there were several little red lines that looked like tally marks sewn across the bottom hem. As Daryl got older his father confessed that the counted-out sewn-in strokes were keeping track of the number of women he slept with while wearing it. When he passed it down to his sons it had eleven tick marks; two sets of crossed over marks of fives and one lone mark. As Merle got older, he informed Daryl that he would play the same counting game as their dad. There were a lot more than eleven lines now. He felt himself sliding into Merle's skin like an involuntary clone as he slid the thin leather over his arms, coming to grips with the reality that Merle had probably used this vest to hide the same things that he was now trying to. He scanned the car one last time, tucked his crossbow under a pile of blankets and bags, and buckled on the knife. Then he headed into town to find Merle.

—-

As he drew closer to town he kept to the woods. He crept around the back of the garage his dad worked at and peeked in between the high chain link fence. His heartbeat increased rapidly when he saw his dads cowboy boots sticking out from under a car. He continued on quickly and thought about where he would find Merle. He had said he was some place that wasn't a place for a sixteen year old kid. So a bar was the only logical answer. The question was, which one? Merle had two favorites, Crazy Ann's and Shotgun Willie's. Daryl knew it was Shotgun Willie's. Merle wouldn't have gone to Crazy Ann's, because the real 'crazy Ann' was Annabelle Beaufort- their mom's best friend. After the funeral they had all gone down to Crazy Ann's.

Willie's made sense, as it was a bar basically running out of someones house. It was the worst bar in town, it was seedy, it was sleazy, it was raunchy. It was an alcoholics bar for the committed, rehab-is-for-quitters individual. There was no music, no talking, no acknowledgement. Glasses would clink and slide down the water stained bar top. Merle had quickly joined the infamous gang around town that was often banned from the main bars. Usually for fighting or over-drinking; usually a mixture of figured it was closed now, but he knew Willie very often let people hang around the house during the day, or from the night he rounded the corner his theories were confirmed when he saw Merle's motorcycle parked by the curb.

He stomped up the front steps and tried the front door. It swung open, and he was standing in the empty downstairs bar. Willie himself was standing by the counter washing glasses.

"We're closed, son," Willie said, not even looking up.

"I ain't here to drink, I'm lookin' for my brother."

Old Willie's head shot up. "You're the other Dixon boy, aren't you?" he asked squinting his eyes.

Daryl sighed because he realized that at this rate, this was probably how the rest of the whole dumb town saw him. "Yeah. Is Merle here?"

The corner of Willies eyes crinkled as he let out a small smile. "Well, I'm sorry, boy, but I don't think Merle's fit to come out and play right now."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Willie shrugged. "All I know, last I saw of him last night he headed upstairs with three girls."

Daryl's eyes fell to the narrow staircase on the far side of the room, and took a step toward them.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," Willie said in a low voice.

Daryl looked the old man in the eye and said, "Fuck you."

He headed up the stairs.


	10. the bike

10

The smell hit him as he reached the second floor of the three story house. It reeked of stale sweat, urine, alcohol, and Daryl didn't want to know what else. The two doorways of the narrow hallway were swung open with sunlight pouring in. He carefully peeked into the first room. Empty. The second room was a bathroom, and he was disgusted to see a syringe laying on the sink top. He slammed that door shut, and hoped he might wake the house's inhabitants. The stairs began to narrow as he ascend to the third floor. The stairs led to a single open room that might have been an attic. However, it had instead had been converted into some sleazy brothel-like setting. Two unmade twin beds lined the rooms far end, and close to the top of the stairs a queen sized bed was tucked into the corner.

Daryl could just make out four bodies tangled naked bodies together in the bigger bed. "Merle?" he whispered.

There was a grunt.

Fuck this. "Merle!"

The yell shook everyone awake, and Daryl watched as a girl comically rolled out of the bed. The other two scrambled around, revealing the other Dixon boy lying beneath them. They rushed across the room and began yanking on their clothes. Merle sat up slowly, yawned. "Aw, come on, girls, you don't gotta leave…"

One of the girls stopped and stood with her hand on her hip. "Merle Dixon," she shot angrily, clearly the spokesperson for all the females in the room. "We are _not_ show ponies! I cannot even _believe_ what went down last night I-" her eyes fell on Daryl finally. "You're his little brother?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't turn into him," she said airily, tossing her head toward Merle. "Be nice to a lady," she advised. "Don't load her up with shots and then act like an asshole." She shot Merle a look.

Merle shrugged. "I'm nice to ladies. I don't see any here. Yeah, I'm an asshole," he continued. "But I ain't the one crawling out of an assholes bed, standin' in the middle of the room in a g-string. Makin' a scene like a third rate whore-"

"Merle! Jesus, shut up," Daryl interrupted. He raised his face to meet the girls. He hadn't even been looking at her because he felt embarrassed enough for all of them. "Can you just get your stuff and get out?" he asked. "All of you, please?" At the please, the girl nodded and led the other two from the room. His eyes darted back to his brother, still lying in bed with his hands resting behind his head. "You don't _have_ to be an asshole all the time, you know."

"Sure, I know. It's just easier. Sometimes more fun." Merle saw the skepticism in his brothers eyes. "You'll see," he warned. "I go with what I know, and I'm good at it. You will too."

Daryl ignored him. "What are you doing here?"

Merle's bloodshot eyes danced. "Wanna know _exactly_?" he saw Daryl open his mouth to say no, but he continued anyway. "Well, first I set up Charlene and Maryann over there to start and told them to-"

"I need clothes!" Daryl finally yelled.

"Hold your honey-suckled horses, Darylina," Merle groaned. "Hand me those jeans." As Daryl retrieved the pants, he eased himself up on the bed. Daryl tossed the jeans across the room and Merle squeezed himself into them. He stood up, stretched. He turned to face Daryl and saw his brother mouth hanging open. "The fuck you staring at? You look like this now, too," he muttered. "Just go by the house and get some clothes, you didn't have to come here."

"_This_ is where you've been staying?"

"Sorta. Willie keeps the beds so no one drives home, don't care if anyone stays."

"I want to stay here," Daryl insisted.

"This ain't no place for you," Merle insisted, his voice getting louder. "It looks fine now, but it gets wild. There are men here that make dad look like a saint," he said softly. He cast an eye out the window and noted the sun. "If you're gonna go get clothes, I'd go now. Dad gets off work about when the sun goes down." He noted his little brother was biting his bottom lip, something he did since forever when he was anxious. "I have an idea. You take my bike on home. Leave it there. Get your stuff and get out."

"Can't I come back here?" Daryl pleaded.

"No. You stay home or you stay in that damned boxcar," Merle growled. He nudged Daryl back toward the stairs. "Now go, hurry up. I got shit to do, too."

Daryl let himself drift down the stairs and glanced at the clock behind the bar. If he left now, he could just make it to the high school as Sadie was getting out.

"Hey, kid, you got something to say to me?" Willie asked.

Daryl knew he was expecting an apology, and probably deserved one. He took this moment to embrace Merle's asshole philosophy. "No, I don't," he answered with a sneer as he walked out the door.

The key was still in the '72 Bonneville chopper. Daryl figured that no one would steal it for two reasons. One reason was that the bike used to belong to a skin head a few counties over. Merle got it real cheap because of the SS insignia engraved on the gas tank. Some people may be offset by the Nazi influence. The other reason was that everyone knew that that bike was Merle's. Merle made sure everyone knew it too, customizing it beyond belief and finishing it off with unnecessarily high handle bars that Daryl could barely reach. Merle roared around town on it and it was his pride and joy.

Daryl swung his leg over the bike and strained his arms a bit to wrap his fingertips around the handlebars. The engine roared to life and Daryl felt himself smile. As he tore through the streets, anyone would have assumed it was Merle. He neared the front of the high school and his classmates all turned at the sound of the engine. He swung into a circle and backed up to the curb. He took this opportunity to slam down the kickstand and lean against the bike like a hotshot. He scanned the entrance for Sadie. As he did, he noticed with smug satisfaction that some of the passing girls _did_ actually check him out.

"Hey, Dixon!"

Daryl turned to see a kid about the same age as him winding up a punch. Daryl instinctively threw his hands up, and breathed a sigh of relief when the kid dropped his fists.

"You ain't the right Dixon."

For once in his life, Daryl was thrilled about this. "Sure ain't," he said angrily. "You're lookin' for Merle."

The kid shrugged nonchalantly. "One Dixon's as good as the other, right?" The two were interrupted by Sadie.

"You're a bit late for class, Daryl," she said dryly. "I see you've met my brother. This is Jesse."

Daryl was still unimpressed. So he chose to just ignore him. He gestured to the bike. "I came to see if you wanted a lift back… to, uh, my place?"

Sadie grinned. "Hell, yeah, I do!"

"Sadie Marie Pinkman, you _do_ _not_ get on that bike!" Jesse warned. She ignored him as Daryl climbed on. "That thing is a shitty rattling death trap!

Daryl gave her moment to get on, and involuntarily leered at Jesse as Sadie wrapped her arms around him. "You're a shitty rattling death trap, motherfucker," he shot as he started the bike. He gunned the engine and sped off with one hand steering while the other offered a single finger salute.


	11. the woods

11

He slowed the bike in front of the trailer. "You get off first," he instructed.

She carefully got down and stood awkwardly as she looked around. "Is _this_ where you live?" She meant to sound curious, because she genuinely was. But she understood how it sounded as soon as she saw his face.

"Yeah," Daryl answered distantly. "We moved here after the fire."

"Sorry."

"The hell're you sorry about?" She shrugged. He left the key in the chopper and checked the driveway. No one home, and the sun wasn't due to go down for a while. "I have to run in and grab some things. Then I'm going back to the car. If you wanna come," he added shyly.

She shrugged. 'Guess I might as well." But he noticed that she had a small smirk of a smile running across her face.

"You guard the bike and let me know if you see anyone coming."

"Is all this super-spy stuff necessary?"

"Fine, don't do it. Just keep quiet and follow me."

She nodded and followed him into the trailer. He turned on the light switch and was greeted with exactly what he thought he would be. A mess. When he did stay there, he took a small amount of interest in maintaining a basic level of cleanliness. His absence was apparent. His eyes fell to the overflowing garbage, the mountain of dirty dishes, and the overabundance of empty beer cans scattered around. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"The hell're you sorry for?" She smiled when he realized she was throwing his own words back at him.

"I'm sorry your six senses are being assaulted right now," he said with full honesty. He headed to the dresser in the corner of the room with an empty garbage bag.

"Are you staying away because of your dad?"

"No, I'm staying away because of the fucking tooth fairy." She looked genuinely hurt and he wondered if he really was meant to be an asshole. "Sorry. But, uh, seriously? What do you think?"

"Guess I thought so. But it just seems so wrong." Her eyes fell to the BB gun on the floor and the shot up beer cans assembled across the TV set. "Does he fire that in here?"

Daryl shrugged. "It's just a BB gun." He began loading clean clothes into the bag, and continued till it was full.

"Won't he notice anything missing?"

"I hope he does." He signaled that he was time to leave, and Sadie rushed out ahead of him.

"You left the light on," she informed him as the sun fell below the trees.

"I know."

—-

They shuffled back to the safety of the boxcar in silence. Once they were inside Sadie plopped herself down on the bed with an exhausted sigh. "These escapades in the woods are killing me," she breathed.

He laughed a little. "You're just not used to it. This car isn't even that far out."

"Why the woods?" she asked laying back. "What's so special about it?"

He gaped at her. "Well, have you seen it out there?"

"Yeah, it's like… the woods."

He found this observation oddly frustrating. "You didn't grow up out here," he reasoned. She nodded, waiting for him to continue. "You find a place, deep out there," he began. "It's away from everything." He found himself struggling. "It's away from everything that's not natural. You let the earth take over, the trees, the animals. It just balances." He noticed her surprised eyes. "What?"

"That's very poetic."

He shrugged. "It's the truth." He made himself busy transferring the clean clothes to the backpack and emptying bad food into the trash bag so she would stop talking to him. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She sat on the edge of the bed and played with the edge of the blanket nervously. "What's your brother want with mine?" he asked finally.

She froze. "You don't know?"

He felt his defenses go up so fast that he felt a chill. "What should I know?" She refused to make eye contact with him. "Sadie!"

She looked past him and stared at the wall. "You should just ask your brother. I don't want to get involved."

He threw up his hands in frustration and they came back down in clenched fists. "Obviously you're already involved!"

She tensed and stood up, visibly annoyed. She placed her hand on her hip and cocked her head. "You calm the fuck down, Daryl Dixon," she commanded in an even voice.

He stepped toward her and he felt his temperature rising. "No one tells me to do anything!" he heard himself challenge her.

She finally found his eye and smirked. "What're you gonna do, fight me?"

He found his lips smashing into hers.


	12. the crossbow

12

He didn't know if he was a good kisser. He had only kissed a handful of girls before, but none of them seemed to have any complaints. He let her absorb the situation and thankfully she took over. She bit his bottom lip and he tasted blood, but he wasn't sure whose it was. He pulled away and attempted to get his breathing right. She snuggled up into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He gently peeled her off. "Tell me," he begged her.

She buried her face in his chest. He heard muffled garbling.

"Didn't get that," he said, kissing the top of her head lightly.

She looked up at him. "He owes Jesse some money. That's all."

He let go of her roughly. "Jesus, Sadie, are you new at this? _What_ does he owe him for?"

"Drugs!" she spat at him. "Happy?" She headed back for the ladder. "Jesse sells meth." She slammed an angry foot onto the first rung of the ladder. "I figured everyone knew that,"she said softly to no one in particular. Daryl still hadn't said anything or moved. "It's getting dark. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." Silence. She clanged up the ladder and jumped from the top of the car to the tall grass below. Daryl listened to her footsteps die away.

He let her storm out of the car. He didn't make any attempt to stop her. He needed time and space to process this latest development in Merle's twisted history. Buying meth off his classmate. He wasn't sure why this shocked him. He thought about Sadie and wondered if he should actually go stop her, but he didn't know why. He was relieved to hear soft footsteps approaching. He heard her awkwardly climbing up the car and raised his head to smirk at her. It wasn't her though. Gazing down at him was none other that Jesse Pinkman.

"The hell you got going on down here, Dixon?"

Daryl picked up on the hint of slight interest in Jesse's voice. "Ain't anything to you anyway," he answered with what he hoped was disdain.

Jesse ignored the ladder and dropped into the car.

Daryl readied himself for another fight.

"I'm not here to beat you up," Jesse started, holding his hands up in front of him. "I just want to know where your stupid brother is."

Daryl feigned cluelessness. "You and me both," he said with a shrug.

Jesse shook his head. "Now, you and I both know that that's bullshit." He surveyed the room, and grabbed at the crossbow on the floor. Daryl started forward as Jesse admired the weapon and ran his eyes over it. "This is nice, Dixon," he said slowly. "Real nice."

"Put it down."

"Seems like the nicest thing in here." Jesse ran his eyes from Daryl's muddy boots to his dirty hair in an attempt to antagonize him further.

"Put. It. Down." Each word its own sentence.

Jesse ran his fingers across the bolts and let his fingertips bat around the rope used the cock the bow. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I don't think I will."

Daryl saw red and heard Merle in his head. _You gotta fight back_. He lunged at Jesse and yanked the bow out of his hands. Reeling from the shock, Daryl used this as a chance to slam Jesse back down with the butt of the cross bow. As Jesse blinked and sputtered, Daryl slammed the instrument into the floor in front of his feet. He bent down and hooked the rope around the bow string and was back on his feet in half a second. He didn't even double check the safety pin as he loaded a bolt. Before Jesse's eyes could focus, Daryl stood over him with the red dot lined up on the center of the boys forehead. "Get out," he growled. He kept the bow on Jesse as he struggled to get up.

"Sorry, man, jeez, don't get carried away- watch that thing!" He yelped as Daryl got closer, the bolt still pointed at him. "You're brother owes me money-"

"Then take it up with _him_, you little shit! Get the fuck out!" Daryl scared Jesse back up the ladder, and followed him up. He shoved him off the side of the car and heard him land in the tall dead grass without any snaps of limbs breaking. "Come back here again, I'll put one straight through your eye, I ain't kidding!" He stood on the car and watched, still aiming, as Jesse scrambled away. He put the safety back on. He climbed halfway back down the ladder and pulled the door closed above him.

He lit the lantern and some of the candles that Sadie had left. He noticed that they all smelled horrendously sweet and flowery. He lay the crossbow on the floor by the bed and sat on top of the blankets. Jesse must have followed them, he figured. He hadn't been being too discreet, and Merle's bike was real loud. He hoped that he had scared Jesse enough, but the reality of the situation was that someone else now knew about the boxcar, his boxcar, and they weren't trusted. He blew out the candles, put out the lantern, and climbed into the bed.

He dreamed about his old house and the chipping paint in the pale yellow kitchen. He dreamt about opening her door and telling her to not smoke in bed, and taking the cigarettes from the bedroom. Prolonged happiness, even if only a little. He dreamed of redneck Nazi's blazing through the streets on low-ride choppers, gunning their engines in a salute as his brother went flying past them all on his own white-pride bike, Sadie sitting behind him with her arms clutching Merle. His dreams turned to darkness and shades of purple and blue and murky yellow. BB gun blasts firing through beer cans, cold and cheap linoleum. Other people screaming. Pain. He woke himself up abruptly because of the real pain. His breathing was coming fast and quick, and he felt like his chest was closing up. He groped in the darkness for a lighter. He saw his fingernails were streaked with blood. He kicked off the blankets and saw that he had been clawing at himself in his sleep. In the center of his chest, right above his heart, there were thin but repetitive slice marks. They ran haphazardly down to his navel. He wondered if he was trying to claw his own heart out.

His breathing was still unnatural and uneven; any observer would correctly assume he was having a panic attack. He leapt out of the bed, and threw on the leather vest and his boots. He belted on the hunting knife, and threw the cross bow over his shoulder with a grimace. He couldn't explain this dire feeling of dread he felt. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew that he couldn't be safe there. He had to move to assuage this illogical and unproven fear. He crept out of the boxcar like he was being watched, and slunk down into the tall grass. He let the moon in the clear night sky act as a light as he eventually stumbled out of the woods. As he hit main street, he heard the distant rumble of thunder. He continued along, and soon felt rain drops hit him. Slowly at first, then the skies seemed to open up like a floodgate. He darted onto the nearest dark porch. A few doors down, the neon light of Shotgun Willie's was still lit up. He heaved a labored sigh, took a deep breath, and began to trudge toward the bar.


	13. the picture

_I usually don__'__t like writing things before a chapter because I feel like it takes away from the flow of the story a bit. However, I just wanted to express how thankful and grateful I am for the amazing feedback! The writers from The Walking Dead have been awesome enough to create these complicated characters, and I__'__ve always felt like the Dixon brothers story was just waiting to be told right. It echoes of Shakespearian tragedy, and everyone knows that that__'__s always the stuff that__'__s got meat on the bones. No walker reference intended. _

_So thank you, readers! Stay tuned, some good shits coming up!_

_-Nikki Jade_

13

For a dreary Tuesday, the bar was as alive as any other Saturday night. People were hanging around the porch and the front yard and he heard heavy bass pounding from the house's insides. No one paid any attention to him as he walked up to the front door, and no one noticed him as he slowly walked inside. He didn't know how it was possible to have this many people in one room. The place was packed with bodies. There were pool tables in the middle of the downstairs rooms with sofas pushed to the side, and they were all in full use. Daryl realized in this moment that he hadn't really thought any of this through. He made his way to the bar and looked around for Willie. He finally saw him leaning behind the bar smoking with a group of people. He carefully approached the group and waited until Willie saw him standing there.

"Hey kid, get the hell outta here!" Willie sneered. Daryl stared back at him and Willie knew that he wouldn't go that easily. He sighed, put out his cigarette, excused himself, and strolled over the Daryl. "Come on," he gestured with a twist of his head. Daryl fell into step behind him as they dodged people in the hallways. Willie brought him into a small back room that looked like a hybrid between a laundry room and an office. There was an old wooden desk with an incredibly worn in leather rolling chair. "Wanna sit?" Willie nodded at the chair and Daryl shook his head. "Well, fine, I'll sit." He fell into the chair and it creaked beneath his weight. "I'm guessing you're looking for your brother again." The boy nodded and Willie realized that this boy was starting to not really look like a kid anymore. "You wanna disarm there, partner?" His eyes landed on the cross bow and the knife. Daryl remained silent, but took off the bow and rested it on the ground near his foot. Thunder rumbled outside. "Look, son, this ain't a children's home," he said softly.

Daryl's head shot up. "I know, I'm just lookin' for Merle."

Willie nodded. "I heard everything earlier," he informed Daryl. "I don't know what kind of _situation_ you two are in, but I see that it's an unfortunate one." Daryl's stance shifted to become completely defensive, Willie noticed. "Yeah, I know. Who do you think took care of old Merle when he was your age, huh?"

"Why?' Daryl grunted.

Wille shrugged. "I've known you two since you were born, your mama was a good friend of mine. Since I was your age, there about. How old are you?"

"Almost seventeen."

Willie stood back up and pointed the chair at Daryl. "You sit down, I'll grab you a beer. And ask where your brother is."

Daryl waited until Willie was out the door and collapsed into the chair. His muscles felt shot and he was still a big sore mess. He spun the chair toward the desk and studied the few personal items Willie stashed there. A box of bullets for an unseen handgun. A pile of receipts, cigarette ash. The few photos he had propped up in various places were old and faded, the people unrecognizable. It surprised him that Willie was sentimental enough to have photos of people. His eyes fell to an old 3 x3 photo by a pile of ledgers. He studied it in the low light. It was Willie standing outside of the bar by a line of motorcycles, and Dallas and Jolene were standing with him. They were all smiling, Dallas and Jolene had there arms wrapped around each other. Willie was holding a baby, and Daryl assumed it was Merle. He lay his head down on the desk, eye level with the photo. He gazed into it. When Willie and Merle got back they found him fast asleep. Merle reached out gruffly to wake him up, but Willie knocked his hand out of the way and shooed Merle out. Before he closed the door he snatched the photo from in front of Daryl's face and shoved it deep into his pocket.

—-

The clanging of the old washing machine brought him out of his sleep. He opened his eyes and remembered that he slept sitting in a chair. He saw Merle loading a wad of clothes in to the dryer. "Hey," he said yawning.

Merle slammed the dryer closed, hopped on top and sat to face his brother. "Hey, yourself," he said with a genuine grin. "Nice to see ya, sunshine."

Daryl felt himself smiling back. Then he remembered the night before. "Pay that little fucker, Merle," he demanded.

"The hell you talkin' about?"

Daryl felt the warmth drain out of the room and out of his bones. Now he was feeling like himself again. "I ain't as stupid as you think, you moron. That Jesse kid, you owe him money."

Merle shrugged, unfazed. "I owe him like $200. He'll get it when I have it."

"He came to the car and tried to take my fucking crossbow!"

Merle nodded knowingly. "I see you say 'tried to take'."

"Yeah. That's not the point!"

"How much would you be able to get for that anyway?"

"We're not selling my crossbow!"

"We're still a 'we'?"

Silence.

Merle kicked his legs back and forth on the dryer and intentionally tried to make as much noise as possible. Daryl twisted and rocked around in the dilapidated chair. He reached for the beer that had been brought for him the night before and Merle hopped off the dryer and snatched it from him.

"How about you go take a shower," Merle suggested, popping the can open. He nodded to the laundry basket on the floor. "Towels're there. You can take my bike to school if you want."

Daryl balked at the mention of school. "Load a good it did you."

Merle shook his head. "Nah, you're smarter than me by miles. You're supposed to go. Leave any lethal weapons here," he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Daryl listened to his brothers footsteps die away. He finally stood up, grabbed a towel. There was a clean white tshirt in the basket that Daryl took with no remorse. He headed up to the bathroom on the second floor.


	14. the dreamcatcher

14

As soon as the hot water hit him he felt his body relax. He stood with his head hanging under the water for a few seconds and let his hair plaster itself down to his head and face completely. He had glanced at the clock in the hall outside the bathroom. It was only eight in the morning. Classes didn't start really until around quartet to nine. He really could just go to school on time for once in a while, he could probably stay there, too. Just like everyone else. He turned slowly and let the water blast into his back. His let his thoughts fall to Sadie. He wasn't sure what the hell they were doing. He surveyed the shower and was dismayed to find only girly flowery scented bathing products and a half empty neon two-in-one shampoo-conditioner. He realized he would see her in about an hour and his heart rate increased. It took a swan dive when he realized Jesse would be there too, most likely. He washed his hair quickly, then hopped out of the shower. He dried himself off and squeezed the water out of his hair. He wrapped the towel around his hips and studied his front.

He was too skinny, he decided. Despite this though, he did have noticeable muscle definition. He chalked this up to stringing the cross bow frequently and his varied excursions in the woods. His black eye was much less black. The claw marks on his chest were still light pink tears that raised themselves from his skin a bit. They would disappear soon enough. He took a deep breath and turned to study his back. Now that he had cleaned it up a little and some time had passed, it wasn't as raw and wild as it had looked in the beginning. The welts were still dark and scabbed over lightly, with slight bruising here and there. He felt a surge of anger in his soul when he realized that he would have these marks for the rest of his life. He got dressed and stomped up the stairs to find his brother.

As he walked into the open third floor, he saw that Merle had gone back to sleep. He saw this as a golden opportunity. "WAKE UP!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, inches away from his brothers face. The amount of satisfaction pumping through his veins was high.

Merle shook awake with a start. His eyes fell on Daryl. "Whaaat," he whined, rolling back over. "What do you want…"

"Can I really take your bike to school?"

"Yeah," Merle mumbled into the sheets. "Just don't let anything happen to it. Wait!" he rolled over and pulled a handful of crumples bills out of the pocket of his jeans. "Take this, too," he commanded, flailing his arm until Daryl grabbed the cash.

Daryl smiled. "Cool." He turned to head back downstairs.

"Key is in the bike!" Merle called after him.

—-

The wind rippled through his damp hair as he picked up speed. The bike felt like a part of his body as he switched gears and roared through the rural Georgia roads. He pitied anyone who had never had the chance to do this, 'this' being taking in the land and scenery while flying by like the wind. Their dad had always had bikes, and it was only a matter of time before Merle got his hands on his own. Daryl had spilt-second flashbacks of being little and his dad perching him in front of him on the bike and driving slow up and down the street. As the more developed part of the town came to view, he gunned the motor. He cruised into the school parking lot, and was happy to see that it was full already and there weren't that many kids hanging around outside. He found a good spot to park the bike and he killed the engine. He surveyed the kids heading into the giant brown building and remembered that he didn't have a backpack. Or books. The only thing he did have going for him, really, was his upperclassman status as a junior. He stalked into the school building and made a bee line for the art studio.

He peeked into the room before he entered and saw his classmates hanging around the room, waiting for roll call. He couldn't help but feel like he was too old for this, that there was _more_ than this, that _this_ was just stupid. Their chatter about Guns n' Roses and this new band called Nirvana seemed like a complete waste of time. He saw Sadie sitting at her usual seat. She was hunched over, her hand frantically scribbling something out on a large sheet of paper. He didn't know why no one else was looking at her, she was the only interesting thing in the room. He carefully shuffled inside and sat down across from her. She didn't look up.

"Hey," he offered, trying with all his might to sound cool.

"Hey," she said back evenly.

"Um. I'm sorry about yelling at you. And stuff." He noticed that the rest of the kids in the class had settled down and were studying them intently. She shrugged and kept drawing. The teacher cleared his throat and began to take roll. Daryl started paying attention after 'Cross, Rick'.

"Dixon, Daryl… absent…"

"No, I'm here."

The older man finally raised his head and squinted his eyes toward the sound of Daryl's voice. "Well, hello, Mr. Dixon. Nice of you to join us today," he said dryly. "Haven't seen you in a while." He continued down the list.

Daryl took this time to try to figure out just how much school he had missed. Before his moms death, he was alright. He'd do his homework, he'd pass. After she died, that's when things got dicey. On and off, he estimated he missed maybe about two weeks. Give or take. Attendance finished and they were left to their own devices for the next forty-five minutes. He absentmindedly picked up a nearby pencil and began digging his name into the table. He watched Sadie out of the corner of his eye. She jumped off her stool and disappeared, reappearing seconds later with a pair of scissors. She began hacking away at what she was working on and he watched curiously.

"Here," she said finally. She tossed the small drawing at him and it landed on the table in front of him. "I was thinking about you last night. I started this then." She watched as he held the small drawing delicately in both hands, his eyes glued to it. "It's a dreamcatcher." Silence. "You probably think it's stupid."

He barely heard her. This was far from stupid. In the center of the drawing there was a skinny twig twisted into a perfect circle. Inside the circle were old school stone-tipped arrows with real feather fletching arranged in a perfect spoke-like pattern. Attached to the circle a the bottom and swirling around below were carefully placed flowing strings of leaves, with occasional feathers tied here and there. Further down the page she added a light shadow, so it looked like the whole thing was floating. The shading and attention to detail was immaculate. "I don't think it's stupid at all," he said honestly. "I think it's perfect."

Across the room they heard the distinct sound of their teacher coughing to get their attention. "And what are you two working on over there?" he called.

Daryl froze.

"I'm gonna draw the back of Daryl's vest, Mr. Williams. Is that ok?"

He shrugged and went back to his crossword.

"Can I?" she asked turning back to Daryl. "Draw you wearing it? The angel wings are a nice touch." She smiled, then lowered her voice. "You just stand there til class is over."

"You had me at 'here,'" he swore earnestly, still holding the drawing like it was made of glass.

She had him sit on a stool in front of her with his back to her. "Just sit like you normally would," she instructed.

He fell into his comfortable horrible posture and slouched. After a few minutes he glanced at the clock. His next class would be history, taught by a little old hag who never smiled. He sighed. "Wanna go get lunch with me today? At the diner?"

She nodded enthusiastically and then remembered that he couldn't see her. "I would love to, I'll meet you in the parking lot around 11:30?"

"Sounds like a plan." He swiveled on the stool and made himself face her. The bell rang. She darted up and slipped the in-progress drawing into a giant portfolio sleeve. "Can't I see?" he asked, stepping closer.

She shook her head. "Not until it's done. See ya later!" she quickly ducked out of the room and he saw her meet up at the end of the hallway with a squealing group of girls.

He made his way to his next class without any incident. It was the conclusion of the roll call in this class that brought out the worst. After finishing reading off the names, the older woman studied the list again. Her beady eyes scanned the room full of students. To his dismay, they landed on him.

"Ah, Mr. Dixon," she rasped. "Please see me in the hall immediately."

The classroom regressed to a kindergarteners mentality and released a collective 'ooooo'. This couldn't be good. But he got up and followed her out of the room anyway. She closed the door behind them and the two stood awkwardly in the empty hallway. Even thought he was a bit small for his age, he towered over this woman. She peered up into his face.

"Mr. Dixon, you have missed twelve of my classes."

"So?"

"You will _not_ pass this class, at this rate. I can only assume you're doing this poorly in your other classes as well." He stared back at her and she wondered if he was even paying attention. "Daryl, do you hear me?" she asked sharply.

"Yes, ma'am." Loud and fucking clear.

"I can work with you to bring up your grades, but I've spoken to the administration and you will probably have to repeat eleventh grade."

"Fuck that," he said in a low light whisper.

She stepped back, dramatically over-offended. "Excuse me? Watch your language there-"

"No, you excuse me!" he let out. "I got a lot more important things to deal with, a lot more important than the fucking French Revolution and shit! I don't even know where the hell I'm sleeping tonight!"

She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, absorbing his outburst. "All of that is regrettable, Daryl. But this is your life, and your education." She ran her holier-than-thou faded baby blue eyes over his dirty jeans and slightly bruised face. "You need to wake up and decide what's really important in your life-"

"Oh, I've figured it out," he snarled, causing her to recoil from him a bit. "Take me off everything, unregister me, I quit!" he spat. He saw kids faces and even a few teachers pressed against the windows of the closed classroom doors. He left his former teacher sputtering jibberish in the hall as he stormed out the front doors to the parking lot. He swung a leg over Merle's motorcycle and snapped the kickstand up. He tore out of there like a bat out of hell. He forgot all about Sadie.


	15. the house

15

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe just to make sure it was all real. Instead of fleeing the town completely, he drove past his old house. It had gone untouched after the fire. Dallas was working on getting enough money to get it fixed, but Daryl didn't even know if he wanted to live there ever again. He pulled into his old driveway and shut the bike off. Without even thinking about what he was doing he ran up the front steps of the house, ignoring the the caution tape X-ing out the door. It smelled like burning still, but everything was in tact. Aside from the big black ashy interior of his parents bedroom, which made him shudder and want to puke, the house looked like its was still in habited. There were dishes in the sink coated with a thin layer of mold and sludge film. The paper from the day before the fire, Friday, was still on the dining room table. He made his way into his old room that he shared with Merle. They had already taken most of their belongings, neither of them had that many. He slid open the closet door and peeked around the opening to see the molding where his mom had tracked Merle and his height. He was startled to see a note lying on his bed. It looked new and out of place. It was folded over once and had his first name scrawled across it. He gingery picked it up and began to read the familiar jagged handwriting.

Haven't seen you for a few days.

Come home. It's ok.

-Dad

He stood in the middle of the small room dumbstruck. He figured that his dad would have to realize that he was gone sooner or later. Come home. Nowhere's home, he thought angrily. Was it really just that simple? Come home, it's ok. He crumpled the note into a little ball and threw it as far away from himself as he could. He suddenly remembered he was supposed to meet Sadie. He knew that by this point, it was past time for lunch. He felt a slight pang of remorse for standing her up. But maybe this would show her that they weren't any good together anyway.

He sat on his old bed and thought about what to do next. The full shock that he just dropped out of school was beginning to sink in. Merle wouldn't be too happy. He figured that he would have to face his dad sooner or later. Eventually. What would usually happen, if it wasn't him in this situation but Merle, is that it would take a few days to cool off. He guessed that that was what these past two days had been. He took a deep breath and let his eyes run over the room one last time. He got up and made his way back to the chopper. If he had to deal with this, he'd do it on his terms. He backed the bike slowly down the driveway then headed to the garage in town. He rolled down the long paved driveway and killed the engine a few feet away from the open garage doors, slamming down the kickstand. He was still on the bike when none other than Dallas Dixon emerged. Daryl lost his composure completely and knew he had the expression of a deer in the headlights plastered across his face.

Dallas stood a few feet away and took a good look at his youngest son. "I wouldn't park that there. Sun's hot, makes the tar soft. Bike'll go right over."

"I'm not staying long. Just letting you know I ain't dead." Daryl found he couldn't even look him in the face.

Dallas began twisting an already dirty towel around in his hands in an effort to get them somewhat clean. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Daryl shrugged.

"You seen your brother in a while?"

"Yeah. He's fine."

"We're workin' on Willie's car right now. Piece of shit, really. We could use a hand," Dallas suggested awkwardly.

Daryl peeked into the garage and saw all the men he had grown up around. This was where he and Merle had learned all they ever needed to know about cars and motorcycles. His interest had been sparked at the mention of Willie. "Alright," he said uncertainly, slowly swinging his leg over the bike. "Guess I could."

The two walked far apart in silence through the open doors. Willie's car was on the lift. Dallas sat himself on a nearby stool. Daryl played around with a jack on the floor. The other men gave them their space.

The silence was deafening and Daryl found the pressure crushing him from all around. "You want me to come back?" he finally asked, knowing that Dallas would never say anything.

"'Course, you're my son." Daryl shot him an angry look. "Look," he started, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. "I know that I get…bad," he began, struggling to find the words. "But it's not me. That's not me-"

"Coulda fooled me," Daryl threw in, finally looking at him. He lowered his voice to the same level as Dallas. "Sure looked like you. Sure felt like it was you."

"It wasn't me, I barely remember the rest of that night."

"So that makes it ok," Daryl hissed. "That makes it all fucking right?"

Dallas shrugged the trademark Dixon shrug. "All I can promise, son, is that it won't happen again."

Daryl stared dead on. "Then I'll come back tonight," he challenged.

"That's fine, I hope you do. Bring your brother."

Daryl felt himself smirk, because he knew that there was no way that Merle would want any part of this. He was brought back into the moment when there was a loud crash. Everyone in the garage ran out to see what the sound was, and all they were greeted with was Merle Dixon's bike toppled over on the pavement. Dallas and Daryl surveyed the scene and both noticed the significant indent in the ground under the bikes kickstand.

Dallas looked at Daryl smugly. "Told ya."

—-

As he pulled the bike up in front of Shotgun Willie's, gravel screeched and spun. Shutting it down and making sure not to put the kickstand on the hot Georgia pavement, he looked over the bike quickly. There were a few scratches, but nothing completely devastating. He decided to not tell Merle. He stomped up the front steps and swung open the door. Merle was behind the bar washing dishes. Willie had been paying him to maintain the place during the day, then work behind the bar at night. Daryl launched right into it. "I saw Dad."

Merle turned off the water and leaned on the bar, gesturing for Daryl to sit. "And? What did dear old dad have to say?" he said with his heavy Southern drawl.

Daryl sat down. "Told me to come back. Said he wasn't responsible for anything, really."

Merle let out a snort. "And where the hell would we be, all of us, this whole damn world, if no one was _responsible_ for their shit? Nah, that there is a genuine, grade A, class one, scumbag." He turned and went back to the dishes.

"He said it wouldn't happen again," Daryl offered.

"Well, kid, if you're gonna believe that, you may not be as smart at I thought."

Daryl realized that this was not the time to mention he dropped out of school. "So I'm gonna go get all my stuff together. Here and in the boxcar." He hopped down form the barstool and made his way up the stairs. He picked up the hunting knife and belted it on. But his crossbow was missing. The discussion from earlier in the morning hit him like a sucker punch. He tore down the stairs and shoved Merle from behind. A glass went flying an smashed on the floor.

"What the hell?!" Merle yelled, looking genuinely surprised.

"Where's my cross bow?!" Merle's face gave him away and Daryl saw it. "What did you do?" he growled. He stood toe to toe with his brother and glared up at him. "You sold it didn't you! That was your plan all along!"

Merle began wrangling the broken glass into a pile with his foot. He studied the glass intently and didn't say anything.

"Well?! Say something!"

"It wasn't ever _your_ crossbow," Merle said slowly.

Daryl let his mouth fall open.

"Dad gave it to me," he insisted. "It was mine, on technicality, little brother."

Daryl shoved him again, but this time with less effort. He let himself go limp and lean on the bar. "How much did you get?" he asked hollowly.

"Hundred n'eighty. I don't owe that kid anymore, we're square."

Daryl rounded on him. "You owe me a crossbow," he accused.

"I don't owe you jack shit, little brother."

Daryl pulled himself up and made for the door as quick as he could. He looked back at his brother, who was still absentmindedly pushing the glass around the floor with the edge of his boot. Daryl stopped. "You really are an asshole, you know that?"

The infamous Dixon shrug. "I learned from the best."


	16. three's company

_Huge apology for the delay and the shortness of this piece, I was recently evacuated from my lovely little haunt in the forest due to severe brush fires... one of the few downsides to living in the woods. i'm sure the dixon brothers would understand. _

16

He returned to the boxcar and wanted to kick himself when he saw the door hanging wide open from the night before. The car was flooded with at least two inches of water. He was glad Sadie stacked the mattresses, so at least one would be salvageable. He found irony in that one place he lived in was destroyed by fire, and now one was momentarily destroyed by water. By the time he reached the trailer it was dark, and Dallas' truck was parked out front. Their was a faint smell of chicken being cooked and with a start Daryl realized it was coming from his trailer. He treaded softly on the stair and slowly pushed the door open. His dad was standing by the stove grilling some chicken cutlets. There was already food laid out on the small kitchen table. "What's this?"

"You said you were gonna be back, and I figured you'd be hungry."

Almost on cue, Daryl's empty stomach made unnecessary whale sounds. "Oh."

"Sit down," Dallas encouraged, nodding in the direction of the food and the set table. "Eat something."

That story about those kids in the woods who find a witch with a house made of candy popped into Daryl's head. He shook his head to clear it and sat down.

"Your brother coming?"

"No, doubt it."

"Little fucker," Dallas growled. He stabbed the grilling chicken with the steak knife he was using and Daryl jumped.

Once the chicken was done the two sat and ate together in silence.

"Not doing so good at school?" Dallas finally asked.

"Nope," Daryl said shaking his head in agreement.

"Ain't for shit, anyway. The hell you gonna do anyway, go to college?" Dallas laughed at his own joke.

Daryl humored him and laughed along softly.

"So were you just camping out in the woods, then?" Dallas continued. "Like I taught you?"

"Sort of. I guess so. Squirrels are always easy enough."

Dallas smiled a small smile. "Oh, yes, my son Robin Hood, right here. You always wanted to be the hero when you were little, always wanted to be the good guy." His eyes glazed over briefly at the memory.

Daryl stared blankly in front of him. "I still do," he said softly.

Dallas felt himself feeling things that he didn't want to, so he stood up abruptly. He opened the small fridge and grabbed a beer for each hand. "I'm going to bed."

"It's six o'clock," Daryl observed.

"So fuckin' what?" Dallas shot over his shoulder as he slammed the bedroom door behind him.

Daryl waited until he heard the creak of bedsprings to move. The TV being turned on. And the grand finale, the pop of a beer can opening. Once he was certain hat Dallas had settled himself he began to clean up the kitchen. It was an ingrained habit, he realized, as he started doing it. When they were little Merle was always told to clean off the table after a meal. He rarely did, and would throw hissy fits up until he was well past the age when it was acceptable. So Daryl began to take care of it, just to avoid the confrontation. He fell onto the couch and didn't bother opening it. Scooping the remote of the floor, he turned on the TV and found himself wary to enjoy this moment of normality. He flipped through the stations until he found reruns of Three's Company and made himself comfortable. Watching Suzanne Somers was helping his mood exponentially. As the night progressed he continued to watch reruns and get the occasional snack from the kitchen. Around eleven he began to get tired, and yanked the blanket off the back of the couch over him. He left the TV on and finally let himself fall asleep.


	17. to bombs burstin'

17

Dallas decided to ignore Daryl the next morning and carry on like he was invisible. He was out like a light, anyway. He slammed the bathroom door when he took a shower and let the bread box snap shut as he made a turkey sandwich then left for the garage. Daryl kept sleeping.

When he leisurely woke up around eleven, he breathed a sigh of satisfaction that he was the only one there. He eventually made his way into the small bathroom and removed his shirt. He gently began unwrapping the bandage and kept his top teeth dug into his bottom lip. It didn't look like he would need stitches. As far as scarring would go, that was inevitable. But he viewed himself out of the woods somewhat for now. He took a long shower in the cramped bathroom then wandered into Dallas' room on a low-standards hunt for a shirt and socks.

Dallas Dixon's bedroom looked like a frat boys dorm room. Assorted varieties of crushed and shot up beer cans dotted the floor and stamped out cigarettes were overflowing from ashtrays scattered around the room. The unmade queen sized bed was jammed into the end of the room and there was barely any space to get around it. Across from the bed was a small dresser whose corner was chipped from being repeatedly hit by the door when it opened. The dresser had a mirror attached to it and the majority of the dressers top was taken up by a precariously placed TV. His eyes involuntarily opened wide when he saw the pictures that were tucked into the edges of the mirror. There were old school pictures of him and Merle when they were really little and Merle still almost looked cute and sweet. Dallas and Jolene's wedding photo. Dallas' first motorcycle. Dallas sitting at the kitchen table of the house holding Daryl when he was a baby, Jolene standing with her arms on Dallas' shoulders.

These images made him profoundly happy and when he glanced in the mirror his smiling face was reflected back at him. Letting the grin stay on his face, he rummaged through the first door and found an old flannel shirt. Thinned by age and wear, he held the faded shirt firmly by the collar with one hand and ripped the shirt sleeves off with the other. He buttoned it quickly and studied himself in the mirror. The shirt's plaid pattern may have been a bright red once upon a time, but now it was just a murky brown. His hair was still a bit damp, he noted that it was getting a bit long. He dug through some more drawers until he found a pair of socks, pulled on his boots, and trudged back into the kitchen as his stomach began to grumble.

Standing over the spot where Dallas made him count made Daryl freeze. He closed his eyes and saw himself cowering on the floor from above and he couldn't breathe. His feet felt like thousand pound weights as he forced himself to move forward to reach the fridge. His eyes focused to the bulb in the fridge as he hung from the open door to survey his options. Milk, beer, deli meat. _The stuff of champions_, he thought sarcastically. He shoveled a handful of what turned out to be turkey into his mouth and licked his fingertips absently as he studied the milk for an expiration date. Picking it up and shaking it he heard chunks bounce around. He poured it down the sink with disgust. He burst through the front door and elected to go back to drain the boxcar, if necessary.

Arriving at the car, Daryl began his inspections. What was left of the water had pooled in one area, so he used his knife to completely free a board and let the water out. The bottom mattress was soggy, but the one on top of it was fine. The edges of Sadie's purple blanket were also damp, but fine aside from that. He dragged the blanket, empty duffel bag, and backpack up on the the car's side to dry in the sun for the afternoon. After spreading everything out, he laid himself out on the car too. The wood was warming his back and the sun lit up his front. He thought about school. He felt no remorse. He felt a lot more than remorse toward Merle, he realized.

Merle knew how much Daryl prized that crossbow. In truth an technicality, Merle was right. It wasn't Daryl's. Their uncle gave it to their dad, and dad had let Merle have it. Guns sounded far more glorious to Dallas Dixon, anyway. But Merle eventually thought it was dumb too, and the crossbow finally trickled down to him. He liked it. He was good with it. Stupid Merle. He hung out on the car as his possessions dried, he didn't know for how long. When everything was sufficiently dry, he returned the items back to the car. He decided to go bother Merle. He sauntered down the street toward Shotgun Willie's with his hands shoved in his pockets and his scars creeping off his shoulder blades.

"Daryl Dixon, you creep!"

He stopped at the shrill voice and cringed.

"You just drop out of school, like a big bum?!" She shoved him from behind and he stumbled forward a few feet.

"Jesus Christ!" He spun to face her. "Would you calm down?"

She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, awaiting an answer.

The Dixon shrug. "I paid my dues."

"You sound just like your stupid brother."

They stood and glared at each other.

"What're you doing out here, anyway," he asked in a desperate grab for her to change the subject.

"It's lunch."

"Oh." He was unprepared for the big brawling hulk that came up beside Sadie and threw his ape of an arm around her. "The hell're you?" he sneered, though still cautious.

"Well, I am Miss Pinkman's lunch date… But what's it to you, trailer trash," the boy drawled, not looking at Daryl and squeezing Sadie in half a bear hug.

Sadie coaxed the magnitude of his hug down until only his arm hung loosely around her shoulders. She smiled nervously. Daryl wouldn't have been surprised if there was smoke pouring out of his ears like those old cartoons he and Merle would watch when they were little.

"Don't be an asshole," she teasingly lectured the other boy. He ignored her and floated toward the group of kids at the end of the street. "He's one of Jesse's best friends. He's like my brother," she tried to explain. But Daryl already had his back to her and was back on track to Willie's.

"I don't care, could be your date. Don't phase me at all," he called over his shoulder.

She jogged to catch up with him and stood in his path. "I'm not going to sit around and wait while you get your shit together, I'm gonna live my life, too," she warned him.

He viewed this as a disclaimer, but in his mind everything was already void and rent. He tossed his head in the direction of the diner and his hair served as a sufficient curtain to block her out. "I think I hear your friends callin'." He left her standing in the dirt with her mouth hanging open.

Merle was behind the counter, still washing the dishes that never seemed to be clean. Daryl cleared his throat. Merle turned, nodded at his little brother, and continued with his work. Daryl made his way behind the bar and sat on the counter as Merle scrubbed an empty pitcher. "We had dinner last night," he said aloud to no one in particular.

"Ain't that sweet."

"Nothing happened. It wasn't bad." Daryl let his legs swing. "He's got pictures of us up. You used to be cute." He smirked.

Merle turned the water off and finally turned to face his brother. "So you think you're alright now?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Well, I'd like to think so. It'd make me happy." Merle Dixon let his face betray him for an instant and gave Daryl a small smile. "Uncle Jess is coming by, maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after."

At the mention of their only uncle, and half-uncle at that, Daryl felt a shred of something he could physically hold on to. Uncle Jess made Dallas happy, and happiness was a commodity that they had all been lacking for a long time. "Cool."

Merle grit his teeth and dropped the bomb with no preamble. "I'm heading back with him. To enlist. Give it a shot, shooting some shit."

"You're joinin' the army?!" Daryl's voice came out much higher than he had intended, and Merle picked up on this.

"I ain't running off to Jupiter, calm your tits," the older Dixon offered as comfort. He reached under the bar and pulled out a glass bottle with copper liquid in it. Motioning for Daryl to grab two freshly washed glasses, he sat himself at the bar and waited as Daryl sat gingerly near him. "Scotch," he stated, pouring a small amount in each glass. He picked his up and make a toasting acting to Daryl, and Daryl sheepishly complied. "To bombs burstin' in air!" Merle watched as his underage brother ingested the liquor and smiled at the thought of corrupting him a little. Daryl made a face, but held the drink down. Merle poured more. "It's a good thing. I'll get money. I'll get to see stuff. Shoot people." He slammed down the second shot, Daryl took a deep breath and downed his.

Daryl was beginning to feel warm. Or maybe it was his blood. Just his blood. Yup, that was it, his blood was warm. It was nice. He was letting the shock set it, the shock that wasn't really all that shocking, when he thought about it. Merle always found a way out. And it was alway him first. Sometimes Daryl thought that maybe Merle was a tiny bit chivalrous and might just maybe put him, his own flesh and blood, before himself. But all evidence pointed to the opposite. After the second shot, Merle still seemed fine. It was the third shot, at two o'clock on a weekday afternoon, that began to claw at his senses. His heart was now going much faster, and he was so warm. "Merle, stop giving me alcohol, you ass," he gasped. He slid his glass across the bar and it stopped itself just short of the edge.

Merle laughed a hollow laugh, but he put the scotch away. He felt good now, he had a decent buzz. And Drunk Daryl seemed like promising enough entertainment. He opened the small fridge under the bar and popped open two beers. He placed one on the bar in front of his brother, then sunk into a nearby couch. He watched Daryl like an amused hunter would watch an infant animal, like a falcon toying with its prey in steely viselike talons. Daryl eyed the beer and after a few overdramatic seconds, groped for it and began chugging. Merle let out a small laugh. Tonight was going to be fun.


End file.
